


Seeing Through the Facade

by Ralkana



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Ultimate Spider-Man (Cartoon)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Office Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 20:28:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint visits with Phil in Principal Coulson's office at the end of a long day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeing Through the Facade

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the knowledge that Hawkeye is going to make an appearance on Ultimate Spider-man this season, and the discussion on tumblr regarding whether we'd need to see them in the same scene to squee like mad and write fic about it. (The answer, by the way, is no.)
> 
> Disclaimer ~ Marvel's toys, not mine. I'm just playing.
> 
> Big thanks to [Maquis Leader](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Maquis_Leader) for helping me hammer this one into shape. I don't often write PWP, and she helped a _ton_.

 

It's long past dark when they get back to the school. Clint leaves Peter and his friends laughing and shoving like the teenagers they are, shaking his head at the resilience of youth as he walks through the vacant halls.

They feel strangely pensive, almost haunted, as though the generations of kids who've passed through them have left some part of themselves behind. Clint rolls his eyes at his own ridiculousness as he approaches the dark and empty administration office. He's not surprised to see a light on under the principal's door -- Coulson is Coulson, whatever role Fury has him playing now.

He knocks on the door, opening it to stick his head in. "Hey, boss."

Coulson looks up, pen in hand, and lust curls tightly in Clint's belly at the sight of him. His suit jacket is off, his shirtsleeves rolled up above his elbows, tie hanging loose and collar unbuttoned. His glasses are perched on his nose, and damn if that doesn't make the whole package even hotter.

"You and Parker get whatever Fury needed done done?" he asks, leaning back in his chair, and Clint barely bites back his protest as Phil slips the glasses off and tosses them on the desk.

"Yep. Mission accomplished." He steps in and shuts the door behind him, setting down his bow and quiver as he waggles his eyebrows. "Ready to debrief me?"

Phil sighs. "Is that ever going to stop being funny to you?"

"Not when there's a chance of it getting you out of your pants, sir."

The other man rolls his eyes. "You're worse than the kids."

Clint glances around the office, at the perfectly aligned files on the desk and the glossy plant in the corner and the certificates on the walls. Some of them are doctored, he knows, but some of them are real -- like the bachelor's in history with a concentration in education, for example. He's seen that one before.

"What were you going to do with that?" he'd asked, the first time he'd seen it on the wall of Phil's home office.

"Become a history teacher," Phil had said with the private little smile he saved only for Clint. "What else? Then Nick called, and everything changed."

Phil would have been a good teacher, he thinks. A great teacher. He's patient and firm and he fucking knows _everything_.

He looks completely at home here in this office. But then, Phil looks at home everywhere. It's his superpower.

"You know, I never went to high school, but I think if I had, I probably would have found myself here a lot," he says, and Phil laughs.

"I don't doubt it," Phil says dryly. "Mouthy, insolent brat."

It's said with affection, so Clint glares playfully at him for a moment, sticking out his tongue. Not even mock anger can hold, though, not when Phil looks like this, relaxed and a little bit tired and so invitingly touchable.

"I think I'd have made a point of it if the principal looked like you."

Phil's smile is fond but disbelieving, and Clint narrows his eyes.

"Come on, sir, you know I'm right. You're surrounded all day long by all these frustrated little balls of hormones and angst and needs. How many of them are hiding a crush on their sexy head administrator? There's gotta be at least a couple that get themselves in trouble just so they can end up in here with you staring them down."

Phil snorts and shakes his head. "You're the only one who sees a dressing down as foreplay, Barton. Trust me, none of them think I'm sexy. To a high school student, the absolute nerdiest and least attractive person in the world is the principal."

Clint looks him up and down and shakes his head, because shit, that's crazy. _Look_ at him. It doesn't matter if Phil's a principal, a tax accountant, a mid-level government drone, a lost tourist, or the most quietly badass senior agent and handler SHIELD has on the payroll -- and those are only _some_ of the roles that Clint has seen him play. He is ruthlessly competent and perfectly comfortable in his own skin in every single one, and that is irresistible.

"Then they're stupid, and they're blind, if all they can see is the principal. They don't see _you_ ," Clint says, his voice rough. "They don't know _you_. Jesus, Phil..."

"Clint -- "

"No. They don't see you kicking in doors and taking out goons without even wrinkling your damn suit, charging in every time to save my ass when it's hanging in the fire again. They don't see you like this, with your sleeves rolled up and your collar undone. Every time I'm lucky enough to see you this way at the end of the day, I just want to grab your arms, feel those muscles flex under my hands when I pull you in close to lick my way down your neck and hear you gasp -- " 

"Clint." Phil's voice is rough now, a warning, but Clint just shakes his head.

"They don't see the way you move into my hands when I touch you, or hear the way you groan when you're inside me, your cock stretching me open, your fingertips digging _just right_ into my hips."

He moves slowly, stalking toward the desk, his eyes never leaving Phil's. The eyes he loves so much are dark, so dark, the blue almost completely gone, and Phil's breathing is ragged and uneven. "They don't see the beautiful way your back arches when I push into you, always so fucking _tight_ and _hot_ and _perfect_ around my cock."

"Jesus, Clint..." Phil's voice is shaking with need, and it's so incredibly hot. Clint circles the desk and Phil's chair glides back so he can swivel it and keep his eyes on Clint's.

"They don't see the way you shake when you fall apart, and they don't hear that little sound, that perfect. fucking. _sound_ you make when you come."

He drops to his knees in front of Phil, his breath catching as Phil's legs slide apart for him to kneel between them. "Believe me, baby -- that sound is the _hottest_ goddamn thing I've ever heard in my _life._ "

Phil is gripping the armrests of his desk chair so hard that the plastic is creaking and his knuckles are white, and Clint can't help but lick his lips at the sight of the hard line of Phil's cock in his trousers. Phil groans, and Clint's breath hitches at the sound.

He breaks eye contact only to duck his head and look up at Phil through his eyelashes. "God, Phil, you look so fucking _good_ right now, please, baby, you gotta let me... Want you so bad. Let me suck your cock."

Leaning forward, he nuzzles against the bulge of Phil's arousal, groaning deep in his throat when Phil's cock twitches against his cheek.

One of Phil's hands drifts into his hair as the other scrabbles at the underside of his desk.

"What are you doing?" he murmurs without moving his head, and Phil moans. 

"Locking -- " Phil swallows roughly, and Clint can hear the dry click of it. "Locking the damn door so nobody walks in on us."

There is something to be said for Fury's paranoia and the enhanced SHIELD security measures all over this office. Clint knows he should feel victorious -- technically, this is work, and they've only broken the 'no sex at work' rule less than a handful of times -- but he's so turned on he can barely think.

He presses a kiss to the soft fabric against his cheek before fumbling with Phil's belt and the fly of his trousers.

With shaking hands, he frees Phil's cock, breathing in deeply to catch the scent he loves so much -- hints of soap and cologne, but mostly just _Phil_.

Phil's cock is hot and heavy in his hands, in his mouth, and the way Phil moans his name when he swirls his tongue over the head of it is almost enough to send him right over the edge.

Clint takes his time, savoring the weight of Phil's cock in his mouth, the taste of Phil on his tongue, Phil's urgent gasps in his ears. He looks up to see Phil watching him, eyes dark and hot, his hand trembling as his fingers card gently through Clint's hair.

"You look so fucking gorgeous, Clint," he growls, his breath catching again as Clint moans in appreciation. "So perfect with your lips wrapped around my cock. Fuck, babe... so fucking good..."

The last word is a drawn out groan as Phil drops his head against the back of his chair, his fingers tightening in Clint's hair.

He takes Phil deeper, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks, tongue swirling and licking and teasing as he does, one hand gripping Phil's hip tightly, the fingers of the other drifting feather-light over Phil's balls, eyes fluttering closed with a moan as Phil cries out.

"God, Clint... fuck... _so good..._ I'm gonna come, babe... gonna -- "

Clint sighs in approval, and there's that sound -- that breathy little choked off cry, his favorite fucking sound in the world -- as Phil shakes apart underneath him, and he happily takes it all, every drop Phil has to give.

He licks softer now, pressing kisses to the warm, sensitive skin of Phil's cock, gently stroking Phil until he grunts and shifts away from Clint's touch, his hand still tight in Clint's hair.

Clint lets go with one last kiss and shifts back onto his haunches, staring hungrily up at Phil as he licks his lips, and Phil moans at the sight.

Phil looks completely debauched with his open collar and his five o'clock shadow, cheeks flushed, eyes dark, sweat glistening at his hairline, and Clint groans and reaches down to adjust himself in his pants.

Phil's eyes arrow down to watch him touch himself, and before Clint knows what's going on, he's flat on his back beside Phil's desk, pinned under Phil as the other man plunders his mouth, tongue licking in to tangle with his, his hands fisted in Clint's hair to hold him steady.

Clint eagerly returns the kiss, whimpering into Phil's mouth as he grinds his cock against Phil's hip, awesome friction on the edge of pain, bound as he is by the tight confines of his field suit.

He tears his mouth away from Phil's to catch his breath, whining as Phil nips his way across his jaw and down his neck, a chuckle that turns into a groan when Phil is stopped by the collar of his suit and sucks roughly at the skin just above it in retaliation.

Clint's field suit is ridiculously crammed with snaps and buckles and zippers, and Phil deserves a fucking _medal_ for the way he gets it all undone and gets Clint's cock out in under five seconds.

And then Clint can't think at all with the rough touch of Phil's calluses against him and the sudden, searing heat of Phil's mouth. His head rolls back and hits the floor underneath him, and he's not sure if the stars he's seeing are from the impact or from Phil's fucking _mouth_ , and he doesn't much care.

Phil is teasing him with fingers and lips and tongue and just the perfect hint of teeth against his aching flesh, and he moans, struggling to lift his head again so he can watch Phil's dark eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, his hands, strong and steady, the way his mouth bobs on Clint's cock, lips slick and shiny as they slide over him. Phil moans back, and there's so much _pleasure_ in the sound, like there's nowhere he'd rather be than here, and the vibration of Phil's throat around his cock is _so good_ , but the touches are so light, and he needs more, just a little more...

"Please, baby," he grits out, and Phil's questioning hum around his cock makes him cry out, one hand scrabbling uselessly against the rough carpet as the other slides into Phil's hair. "Please, more, please, Phil, I need..." he pants, his voice breaking with need, fighting the urge to yank Phil's head down and take and take and take.

Phil's fingers tighten precisely around the base of his cock as he swallows Clint deep, a slick fingertip brushing over his balls and beneath them, lightly circling the rim of his hole, and it's _so fucking good..._

"Gonna come," he moans, hips arching helplessly as Phil hums again and slides his finger in, just the tip. Clint stares blindly up at the ceiling and he can't help but think of Phil, sitting here tomorrow in this perfectly organized office in his perfectly pressed suit with his perfectly matched tie, trying to do his work and remembering _this_.

"Ah, God, Phil!" he cries, his lover's name half groan and half wail, and he's gasping and coming and _fuck!_

Then he is lying exhausted on the hard floor of Phil's office, panting to get his breath back, boneless limbs splayed like a starfish, and Phil is lying beside him, exactly the same.

"Fuck," Phil groans, his voice rough and fucked out, and Clint's cock is absolutely spent but it twitches anyway at the sound. He laughs.

"My thoughts exactly," he says, and hell, his voice sounds no better. "I think I've been thoroughly debriefed, sir." 

He turns his head to smirk at Phil, and Phil is trying to glare reproachfully at him, but he only looks sleepy and satisfied, and it is Clint's favorite look on him.

"I am never going to be able to concentrate in this office again," Phil sighs, staggering to his feet and straightening his clothes.

"Then my work here is done," Clint says with a grin as he starts to do the same. Before he can wrestle his field suit back into order, Phil is there, doing it for him, his hands swift and sure on the fastenings. Fingers still busy, he speaks without looking up.

"You know, Clint... the students, the other agents, the rest of the team -- they don't see what you see in me because I don't let them. There's only a handful of people in the world I trust enough to be Phil with -- and _nobody_ has ever seen me the way you do."

When he finally looks up, it's all there in his eyes, affection and love and absolute trust, and Clint is both honored and terrified. Everything he wants -- _needs_ \-- to say backs up in his throat, and he can only look back in silence and hope his eyes say half as much.

Phil's face softens even more, and he smiles as he leans in for a soft, sweet kiss. Clint closes his eyes and just savors, his hands light on Phil's hips, and suddenly, it's all too much.

He pulls away and clears his throat. "You're making me nauseous here, sir," he says gruffly, and Phil chuckles. "Time to go home, boss," he adds. "School let out a long time ago."

Staring at the remaining work on his desk, Phil runs a hand through his hair to try and tame it, and Clint doesn't bother to tell him that nothing's going to help it at this point. No one's around but them anyway.

"You're right," Phil says as he slings an arm around Clint's shoulders and leads him toward the door. "Let's go home."

**END**


End file.
